


Ignis et Cinis

by AdelaideGrace



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Reunited and It Feels So Good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:56:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29520510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdelaideGrace/pseuds/AdelaideGrace
Summary: Severus left Hermione without explanation after the war. Hermione is left devastated until they reunite at the annual Ministry Ball. This is a repost.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 1
Kudos: 33





	Ignis et Cinis

**Author's Note:**

> I recommend listening to Once Upon a December by Emile Pandolfi whilst reading this fanfic. Great for the ball scene.

2nd May 2002

The day had crept upon her yet again. It was the anniversary ball to mark the fall of the most reviled wizard in history. She, as a dutiful member of the Godly Golden Trio, was expected to appear on the arm of her two best friends and depict the essence of perfection. It was all pre-choreographed. They would be the last to enter and, as always, a cacophony of applause would ensue. It had become monotonous. It had become infuriating. What seemed externally flawless, was but a gilded cage to her. This day represented so much more to her than the success of the final battle. It signified the crushing of her soul. The day the love of her life drove her to despondency. She would not spare him thought tonight.

It could not be argued that she was anything less than beautiful. She had matured from the ugly duckling into a most divine swan. Stood in front of her floor length Georgian mirror, she took the time to study herself, something she had done barely a handful of times since the final battle. Her skin, though clear of blemishes, stood tight on her protruding cheekbones, pale like a doll and blotted with a few freckles. Her smokey eyes were pierced with dark chocolate irises and between them lay a single wrinkle where her brows would habitually furrow. There were no wrinkles surrounding her eyes nor mouth. She did not indulge in smiling often. Her hair, a waterfall of cascading locks and littered with petite dahlia buds, fell behind her, held back by a pair of black combs.

Ginny had outdone herself with Hermione’s dress this year. It was of the darkest rouge, figure hugging until mid-thigh where it seemed to explode into a stunning mess of gathered satin which looked to expand for endless yards around her. It was the epitome of grandeur- everything Hermione was not. Still, she had an image to uphold. The appropriate concealment charms had already been performed on her numerous scars.

At that moment a resounding knock on the door shook Hermione out of her reverie. Harry and Ronald emerged looking like two headless chickens. And then they saw her.

“Wow Mione, you look amazing.” Both of them stood thunderstruck before gathering her in a communal bear hug. God, she loved them. Her boys.

After that day of the final battle, she was shattered. A shell of the girl she was. It was understandable at first, the whole world was trapped in a snare of grief. Her problem was that she was mourning for a man who she knew was alive. A man who she shared with a dirty secret.

It started a few months before that dreadful last day she saw him. They were forbidden. They lived and breathed for the other and yet, if they were discovered, the consequences would be unfathomable. They had been at Grimmauld place, entangled in an embrace of moist limbs when they made a mutual agreement not to tell another soul about them, unless they both survived. They were consumed with one another. They were fire and ash, he had said. One could not be without the other, he said. They had continued to steal unceasing nights together until it became impossible. The relief she felt when they both survived the battle was astoundingly profound. She remembered clinging to him and murmuring nonsense of love and then him stepping back and walking away. Her memories of the months after that were few and far between, overcrowded with fog and obscurities. Harry and Ron had told her of the state she had submerged herself in. She didn’t eat. She didn’t sleep. Some things they refused to tell her and she worried to think of what she had done to herself. She grew very sick but eventually, they nursed her to the shadow she was today. They neither understood nor asked what happened. Her boys. They were incomparable.

“You know I love you both.”

They just smiled and offered their arms.

With a hand hooked on each of her lifelines, the trio entered what could only be described as a palace of gold, furnished with mirrors and glass and teeming with wizards and witches from everywhere, all smiling and clapping for them. They grinned and waved, playing the part of the Wizarding royal family and proceeded to glide down the lavish ministry staircase. She felt the thousands of eyes upon them, praising them and critiquing them. There’d be a dazzling review on her dress in the gazette tomorrow.

Both Harry and Ron were joined by their respective partners unsurprisingly, Ginny and shockingly, Lavendar. Hermione couldn’t complain. Lavendar had turned into a cherished friend during her breakdown stint and Hermione’s affections would always lay elsewhere regardless.

The group split up to make their usual appearances, taking interest in charities and avoiding talk of politics. She would nod and listen, not showing particular enthusiasm. She didn’t do that anymore. After a circuit of the ballroom, the group regathered before the first dance which was traditionally started by the trio and their partners. Hermione would often graciously share the dance with a nearby fan. 

The group of five enjoyed champagne and conversation until the first trickle of notes started to echo from the fifty-piece orchestra. They knew it was time to perform again. Harry and Ronald led the way to a cleared centre which expanded as they entered, with Ginny and Lavendar in tow whilst Hermione waited for another assertive gentleman. She no longer got embarrassed about it, it was-

“May I have this dance, Ignis?”

My God. The neighbouring gasps were like screams to her ears.

She spun around to follow the voice. His voice. And once around, she saw the man who had both created and destroyed her. The man who had given her life and made her want to take her own. The author of her dreams, the carpenter of her very foundations. 

“Severus. Severus. Severus. Severus.” Each one punctuated with a thumping sob.

He pulled her. Somehow, they were dancing, waltzing. It was just them. Only them, encircling each other staring at each other. He had not changed, apart from the slight lengthening of his hair. She was wrapped in him, revelling in him, his black orbs reading the script of her soul, reading her grief, her seclusion, her exhaustion.

“Breathe.” He said, and she breathed. She breathed for the first time in years. She ached and sobbed and cried and spun. What a sight. He marvelled in her, watching her like a painter would his art. Her dress flew around her like flames, smouldering the gawking of spectators.

“Why. Why. Why. No. Please.” Goodness, she might die of emotion. She had not felt in so long. So, so long. 

“Ignis, survival was a myth before that battle. It was impossible, unfathomable. I thought I was promising you lies. I had looked forward so much to death, an end to all I had seen that I couldn’t bear to live, so I broke. I tried to stay away, allow you normality. We are of infinite intensity Ignis.”

Spinning, dancing, whirling, breathing.

Warmth. She could feel the blood, the essence of him feeding her, nourishing her body. She was alive. She was alight. He had given her life again, waltzing as if he had never left, devouring her in his stare, consuming her with his existence, engulfing her with his air. They breathed in one another, weaving with one another, looking celestial as they circled one another, her fire and he, ash, blazing, breathing, burning. Intensity, yes that was what they were. One could not be without the other. 

“I am only yours, my love.”

So many questions. She had so many questions. She ignored them. They would wait.

“You will not leave me again.”

“Never.”

She swathed him with herself, encircling him, feeling him, smothering him and he clung just as desperately back, like ignis et cinis.


End file.
